


Adrenaline

by Baylock



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Slurs, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baylock/pseuds/Baylock
Summary: Micah and Javier get drunk together.When Javier suggests that Micah couldn't please a partner if he tried, he makes it a challenge Micah can't back down from.
Relationships: Micah Bell/Javier Escuella
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	Adrenaline

"Hey, hey, go easy..." Javier said.

Micah didn't much feel like going easy. His head was pleasantly fuzzy from whiskey and he could feel his nerves still frayed from the argument. It was a nearly pleasant feeling, a low-grade buzz of adrenaline, built up beneath his skin and then never used, hot with the promise of an altercation. Micah thrived on fights, living for the action, though he did better when there was a lot of open space and a bullet to cross it than if the person he was duking it out with could take advantage of the glass jaw he would deny he had. 

He could taste salt and sweat on Javier's skin, feel the damp trace of it under his lips. If he moved just _so_ the flutter of his pulse flickered against his tongue, quick and flighty. He could smell it on him, that near-fight, and he knew it had got to Javier just as much as it had him. 

"And just why'd I wanna go easy on you?" He asked, speaking with his lips close enough to brush his skin with every word, voice low. "As I recall, you said some very ... shall we say ... _unkind_ things to me." 

Well, it wasn't a lie. 

They'd spent a while drinking together, first sharing a laugh and a couple of bottles of beer and then switching to whiskey as common sense went up like smoke. They'd talked of jobs gone wrong, and those done right, of banks and stages and trains; of family, good and bad; and women, for better or for worse. Healthy exaggeration had made the tales taller, the explosions louder, the law meaner and the ladies prettier. Prettier and, most importantly, free.

Neither much believed the other, even before the truth had been stretched out of shape like an ill-made hat, but Javier had injected just enough doubt to cause offense, no doubt deliberately, and, when snapped at, had taken to suggesting that his drinking partner couldn't please another if his life depended on it. It had galled him and Micah had, of course, disagreed. Vehemently. 

No punches had been thrown, but there had been the threat as tempers flared, brief and bright like the tiny supernova fizz and glow of a match being struck. Then Javier had said, quite simply: "So, ah, prove it, amigo."

He had stared Micah down with ink-dark eyes, shoulders squared, his neatly bisected eyebrow cocked, chin angled up in challenge like a coyote facing down a wolf. It was only habit that had kept his hands at waist height, close to his gun, instead of up and inviting him to have a go with a flick of his fingers. Micah had seen that in the twitch of his wrist.

"Ohhh, is that how it is?" Micah had drawled, a low laugh following after the words. "Always said you were a bit... what was it, oh yeah.. _femini_ -"

The slap, more of a cuff really, shut him up. There was no ringing crack, Micah's whiskers would have muffled that if Javier had tried, but it served to silence him even so. Micah told himself he wouldn't have even landed it had his reactions not been dulled, but he knew it was lucky Javier wasn't quite coordinated enough to smack him properly. The last time he had, for the same insult, had laid him out. 

"If you think I'm so feminine, you'll have no problem, huh?" Javier had cocked his head, showing straight-if-yellowed teeth in a grin widened by alcohol. He'd given a short laugh, the sort that comes before a joke the teller finds funny even before saying it. "You can pretend I'm Abigail if you were just saying that to try and hurt my feelings, y'know. I won't be offended. Maybe Mary Beth..?" 

It was a challenge Micah couldn't back down from even if the words prickled along his spine and made him want to pull his guns out of their holsters and put a bullet between the little Mexican's dark eyes. There was too much in Javier's tone to provoke him, too many barbs to pull and snag at his pride. He'd considered refusing, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd indulged his needs with another man, though blackmailing Bill Williamson into sucking his cock wasn't quite the same as what Javier had implied.

"I will make you come fully undone before this night's out," Micah had spat.

Which was how Micah came to have Javier pressed against the wall of one of Shady Belle's side-buildings. He'd practically dragged him there, out of sight of the camp, working to keep the snarl off his face as Javier allowed the smirk to stick on his, like shit to a shoe. He'd pushed him roughly against the splintery wood, his head still spinning with the whiskey and his smarting ego, his fingers working to undo first his gunbelt and then his braces.

The belt came away easily enough and Micah pulled it from him, laying it over a barrel with little care for the intricately worked leather or overly decorative pistol grip. It slammed onto the hollow wood, though not loudly enough to drown out Javier's attempts to needle him. The braces seemed more stubborn, the stiff leather relinquishing its hold on the buttons only reluctantly. Micah though, dimly, that it would have probably been easier to undo his waistcoat and pull them down than unhook them, but the thought arrived too late to be acted on without looking stupid.

"You seem eager," Javier said, tone light in spite of the roughness of Micah's hands and the scratchiness of his whiskers against his skin.

"Oh, will you shut the fuck up?" Micah said, unhooking the buttons from the back once the front was finished, catching Javier's skin between his teeth in a stinging little nip that drew a satisfying gasp. 

"You gonna be okay getting this done, old man?" Javier asked, reaching behind him. "Not had too much whiskey?" 

Micah almost jumped as unfamiliar fingers grabbed him. Javier's grasp was rough, but not too hard, just enough to make him stiffen where he stood lest he squeeze a little tighter. "I ain't had too much damn whiskey," he snapped, pulling roughly at Javier's shirt to untuck it from his waistband. 

The fabric was more expensive than he wore, he could feel it in both the shirt and the waistcoat that covered it. His hand found bare skin beneath, smooth and warm, and his touch lingered, just for a moment, before he pulled back to slap at his grasping hand. He heard Javier laugh. His coordination wasn't perfect, he could tell with the way that he seemed to be watching himself move, as if looking in from the outside. Everything seemed a little muffled, but also a little warm entirely independent of the humid weather, like the whiskey had wrapped itself around him like a blanket. 

Micah pushed Javier's trousers down over his hips, easy enough without anything in the way of undergarments for them to snag on. Even the little warm-weather asshole found the sticky heat of Lemoyne a little much, huh? Well, it just made it easier for him, didn't it? 

He found himself somewhat surprised at how relatively hairless he was. He himself was hardly clad in a rug of it himself, not like Bill Williamson, or Dutch, but Javier was mostly smooth save for an undoubtedly dark trail running from his navel to his cock. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen him with his shirt open, but he expected him to be sparse at the chest too, not that it mattered. He wasn't curious enough to run his hand up to find out.

"Giving up?" Javier goaded. Had it been cooler he might have shivered as the air whispered over his newly exposed skin, carried over from across the Lannahechee River.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Micah said, his flat expression unseen behind Javier's back. He didn't bite him again.

"No," Javier said, letting the disagreement linger before he added: "What I'd like is for you to get on with it before I'm too old to keep it up." 

Micah made a noise somewhere between exasperation and a growl. He shoved Javier forward, hand between his shoulder blades, and kicked his feet further apart with the kind of irreverence precisely nobody found endearing. Javier gave another laugh of amusement; getting to Micah was clearly half of the fun. 

Micah stepped back to undo the buttons of his own trousers. He didn't really need to pull them down, an open fly would do the job, and did. He didn't even need to take off his gunbelt. It was hardly going to get in the way. 

"What're you, uh," Javier paused, apparently searching for the phrasing he needed. Micah wondered distantly if it became harder for him to think in English the drunker he got or whether it was just something he found difficult to say with the sort of delicacy required. "What're you gonna use?"

"Use?" Micah kept his voice flat. 

"You know, to ... grease things up," he said, looking at him over his shoulder. The moonlight made his skin look paler than it was, if not quite ghostly. "I know Bill, uh... I hear he _repurposes_ hair pomade."

Micah snorted. That made sense. He'd heard him asking for it, keeping his voice low, actin' all furtive, and remembered thinking at the time what a waste of effort it would be, balding as he was. Now the pieces fell into place. He supposed there was no way he was going to be fucking that O'Driscoll kid dry, but he'd not thought too deeply about it. Hearing them had been bad enough, Bill grunting like a stuck animal like that, let alone opening himself up for imagining it. 

"I ain't got any pomade," Micah snapped. 

"Well, you're gonna need something, compadre," Javier said, his shoulders rising and falling with the shrug of a foregone conclusion. 

Micah set his jaw. He'd never bothered with pomade, he had no reason to. He didn't slick his hair like Dutch, or style it like Morgan occasionally seemed to feel the need to. He left it loose, hanging down beside his face like a gun dog's ears. He did have another kind of oil, though. 

"I got gun oil," he said. "That do?" 

Javier stayed quiet for a moment. Micah almost asked him again in case he hadn't heard him, but then he spoke up. "Sure. You got it here?"

Of course he did. Like he ever went anywhere without it. He didn't care about anything as much as his guns, except perhaps his horse, and they were well looked after. He pulled a container of it from his pocket and looked at it. The metal casing was already warm from being held close to him and he doubted the contents would be much different. He wrinkled his nose, but didn't hesitate too long before pouring it into the palm of his hand. The honey-coloured oil glittered in the moonlight. 

Usually he might have hesitated before smearing it on his cock, but on this occasion, he didn't. His hand slid from base to tip as he coated himself, the slick oil providing more than enough lubrication for the job. 

"You're gonna want to use your fingers," Javier said, his expression mercifully unseen. "It'll make it ... you know, easier."

Micah looked up sharply and gave the wooden siding of the building in front of him a flat look intended for Javier. "You've done this before, ain't you?" 

"Once or twice..." Javier admitted. "Both ways," he added quickly, "so I, uh, know what I'm talking about."

"I thought you Catholics were against this sort of shit," Micah hissed, emptying more of the oil onto his hand. "Bet you made the priest cross himself when you confessed to taking it up the ass, huh?"

"We're against a lot of things that we do anyway," he said lightly, curtly. "Murder, robbery, adultery... eating meat on Fridays..."

"Yeah yeah," said Micah, kicking at his feet again to make him adjust his stance. "Whatever you say."

He didn't relish the idea of using his fingers, but the situation hadn't put a damper on either his cock or the adrenaline that the argument had ignited in him, so he used them, knowing he'd be less happy about it later than he was now. Javier felt a lot warmer to the touch with the air cooling the oil on his fingers, and he felt warmer still when he pushed past the tight ring of muscle that attempted to deny him regardless of Javier's advice. 

The oil made the intrusion easy, and Micah used his longest finger, pressing it all the way in. It didn't feel quite how he'd imagined, somehow, and the disgust he might have felt about it melted back. There was a little give, enough for him to curl his finger, his short-bitten nails scraping lightly on the inside. Javier made a noise that made the hair stand up on the back of Micah's neck despite himself and he tried to ignore the renewed rush of interest in his cock. 

"That enough?" He asked, trying to inject sarcasm into his tone without much success. 

"Only if your cock's as small as I think it is," Javier said, his attempt to keep his voice even failing. "You can use two, you know."

He did. The squeeze around his fingers was tighter with two and it felt hotter somehow. He did his best to make sure he was lubricated enough, more for his own benefit than Javier's, and went still when the noise he made, quite different to before, was sharper and more sudden. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard even a whore make that noise without faking it. 

"Yeah," Javier said, the word leaving him with a ragged exhale. "There..." 

Micah's lip curled. He found himself unsure of whether he approved of that or not. He did it again, to see if the effect was the same and to his surprise, and no small amount of amusement, it was. He leaned in, lips close enough to Javier's ear that he was sure he could feel his whiskers on the shell of it. "You sound juuust like one of them saloon girls, you know that?" 

"And you sound like one of those men the saloon girls charge extra because you're such an asshole," Javier said, unsteady but no less arrogant than usual. 

Micah grinned and leaned back, pulling his fingers free of him and giving his own cock a couple of strokes for good measure. "Let's see if you still say that when we're done," he said, pressing closer. 

Javier felt warm against the head of his cock, oiled as he was. Micah smirked to himself, having not quite imagined that he'd get to use another gunslinging outlaw like a common whore, but he didn't see much of a problem with that. He steadied his length with his hand and pushed in, feeling resistance followed by a reluctant yield... 

It was tighter than he'd expected. He couldn't quite keep his voice in at the sensation, and kicked himself for it, though not as hard as he would have if he'd been sober. The grip around him was perfect, the heat more heady than the whiskey. He wouldn't admit Javier was right about it, but the oil made it better still. 

"That all you got?" Javier asked, taking a moment to ungrit his teeth before speaking. 

"I _waaas_ goin' easy on you," Micah said shortly, managing to keep himself from snapping at him. 

Really, he was just enjoying the moment, but the next one called for something better than just a tight fit and a firm grip. He pushed all the way into him. He wasn't anything special when it came to length or thickness, but what he had did the job. It certainly dragged a noise out of Javier, though he got the feeling he'd tried to resist that. Even better. 

The going easy stopped then. He drew out and pushed back in like he was used to, the friction nearly intoxicating from the off. He gripped Javier's hips with both hands, one oily and one not, to steady him as he moved, his strokes rough and hard, his teeth grit.

It surprised him that Javier turned out to be vocal in his approval of it. It didn't sound put on, like the cries of women behind closed doors in bordellos and saloons, instead sounding surprisingly genuine and he had to wonder how much of that was drawn from him thanks to the inhibition loosening nature of whiskey and how much was just him being how he was. He wondered, but didn't really care. It was music to his ears either way.

At first the sounds he made were wordless, but as the time went on, words mixed with the cries, words Micah couldn't understand entirely because he had no Spanish. All the same, he grinned to himself, knowing that Javier was too undone to think in his second language any longer. It was a small victory, if nothing else. 

He let go of him, moving his hand up to grip his hair. He grasped his ponytail, fingers wrapping around and behind the band that held it in place, and pulled his head back to expose his throat, leaning in to lick his neck. The taste of salt seemed sharp in the moment, and he spoke against his skin. "I can't get a _word_ you're sayin', Greaser." His breathing was ragged and unsteady. 

Javier bit out something Micah knew could only be an insult, and he felt him jerk as he adjusted his position so he was leaning on one forearm instead of his hands. Micah wasn't going to help him out manually, so he took matters in to his own hands. He could tell by the movement.

Micah ignored him and concentrated on what he was doing, gripping his hip a little more tightly with the hand that remained there, his movements becoming shorter and more urgent. He became acutely aware that he was probably panting down Javier's ear, but he found that he didn't care, not when it felt that good and when Javier sounded like _that_. It seemed to fill the world, but the whiskey took the edge of the self-consciousness of it all and he knew, albeit dimly, distantly, that nobody else would be able to hear them, not where they were. 

"You gonna say anythin' I can understand?" Micah asked, his voice catching like something sharp on a silk stocking, his grip on his hair tightening. "Or you just gonna mutter to yourself?" 

"F-fuck you," Javier said, dragging a breath in. 

Micah laughed, a breathy sound, losing his rhythm only for a second. That cut through to the English-speaking part of his brain, or else he just had it ready, like a bullet in a chamber. 

It was Micah who came first. 

The peak of it came up on him suddenly, like a wave, and he held Javier tighter, moving his hand from his hair to where his neck joined his shoulder, dislodging the band in the process. He nearly held him in place as he pushed into him for the last time, relishing the feeling of him hot and tight around him until the rush subsided. He was almost annoyed at how quickly it had come around, and then he felt different stab of annoyance for having wanted it to last longer.

He stayed pressed against him, chin on his shoulder, as Javier stroked himself to completion. He was able to see his tight grip and firm strokes until he rather visibly spattered the wooden wall of the out-building with white. He felt him come as much as saw it, Javier tightening around him with every spurt, still in him as he was, but he wouldn't have needed to do either, because Javier wasn't silent. He didn't exactly scream theatrically, but his breaths touched on his vocal cords enough to make noise, pleasured and uninhibited. He sounded almost plaintive as he started to come down from it.

Micah stepped back once he was done, slipping from him as he started to soften, the pair of them panting in the night air. 

The oil would need washing off both his cock and his hands, Micah knew, but it could wait. As it was, he just tucked himself away and wiped his hands on the cloth he used to clean his guns. It would do for the time being. He could deal with it later. Javier took a little longer to recover, and he shivered before he got his clothing back to a presentable state. His hands seemed to shake as he fixed the buttons on his suspenders, though he hid it well by the time he was tucking in his shirt. 

"Th-that wasn't so bad, huh?" He asked, turning back to Micah and leaning on the wall a foot or so away from where he'd made a mess. His voice was unsteady and his breathing remained a little laboured, even if the panting had subsided. He tried to sound cocky, with a semblance of his usual arrogance, but he mostly failed. 

"You tell me I can't please anybody again," Micah said, with a smirk, "and I'll remind you of the time you cried out like a whore for me." 

Javier's expression went flat, but he shrugged. "That's fair," he said. He had challenged him to it, after all.

"I damn well know it's fair," Micah said, drawing out half the words to twice their usual length. 

He pulled a box from his pocket, a half-battered carton of cigarettes. He tapped the bottom, inviting one out, and pulled it out between his lips. He hesitated, then repeated the tap, offering one out to Javier. After that, sharing a cigarette wasn't too much of a stretch.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really enjoy this ship. 
> 
> I like their relationship with each other, antagonistic, unfriendly, but softened in the presence of alcohol or adversity. I don't think they'd be romantic, of course. It's definitely convenience, but I love them both, separately and together, and they're a lot of fun. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! c:


End file.
